Part 4 (1/2)

”Scouts report that more and more people are leaving the area and heading north,” Corrie broke into his thoughts. ”But a lot of them are joining up with John Masters and his people up in the Panhandle. He's got quite a following, General.”

”Estimates?”

”Ten thousand.”

”That's men, women, and children. How many fighting personnel can he field?”

”About thirty-five hundred.”

”That's still too many to have at our backs. Tell Buddy to regroup his Eight Battalion and get ready to strike from the north. I'll pull together my One Battalion and hit them from the south. We've got time.

Brodermann is still trying to devise a battle plan. Saddle up. Let's go deal with Mr. Masters and his hate group.”58 Chapter Five.John Masters looked the part. And he played it well. He was one of those quasi ignorant, heavy-jowled, pus-gutted, piggy-eyed loudmouths who had an unshakable opinion on everything and was given to thundering G.o.dlike p.r.o.nouncements through a bullhorn, which his followers hung on breathlessly. To say his followers were just slightly less knowledgeable than John would be like saying fire is hot.

Since the Great War, dozens of groups, large and small, made up of people who blamed everything bad that had befallen them on those who were not the same color, religion, race, or whatever, had sprung up all over the nation. If they did not get in the way of the Rebels, or draw too much attention to themselves, Ben had pretty much left them alone.

Then groups such as Masters's began embracing the puke from the brain and mouth of Jesus Hoffman, who preached the somewhat diluted teachings of Hider.

That was more than Ben Raines could take.

”Raines ain't a gonna do nothin' to us,” Masters boasted, when he learned that two groups of Rebels 59.were approaching his location, one from the north, the other from the south. ”They's too many of us. 'Sides, Raines has got his hands full tryin' to deal with the Blacks.h.i.+rts, and they gonna walk all over Ben Raines and then we'll be shut of that n.i.g.g.e.r-lovin' b.a.s.t.a.r.d forever.”

It never seemed to occur to people like Masters that armies numbering hundreds of thousands had been trying to 'walk all over Ben Raines' for a decade. Ben was still very much alive and very much in command.

And as far as Ben being a ”n.i.g.g.e.r-lover,” Ben didn't place a whole lot of emphasis on the color of a person's skin. It was what was in the individual's heart and brain that mattered to Ben. Ben and his Rebels had fought Blacks, Whites, Hispanics, Asians, and just about any other ethic group one could think of... if they were stupid enough to declare war on the Rebels.

The Rebel Army was made up of men and women of all nationalities, all religions, all races. Ben's critics, and they were many, had accused Ben of taking the cream of the crop and ignoring the rest. That was true in part.

For the most part, the men and women who made up the Rebel Army were a tolerant bunch who used a great deal of common sense in day-to-day dealings with their peers. Anyone could do it; most simply would not.

And that included people on both sides of whatever color line was involved. Whatever the color or faith.

So in that respect, Ben did have the cream of the crop.

But even among Rebel ranks, many had to continually work at being tolerant of others. Sometimes tempers flared and violence followed. Itwas not often, but it did happen. As Ben had pointed out many times, the men 60.and women who made up the Rebels were not perfect ... they just tried very hard to be.

John Masters looked at the communiquehanded him by a runner from his communications center. He wadded it up and tossed the crumpled note to the ground. ”Brodermann says for us not to engage the Rebels. He wants us to cut and run. h.e.l.l with him!”

”Why, G.o.dd.a.m.n, General,” a follower of Masters said. Masters insisted on being called General, even though he had no prior military training and could not even make it through the first few weeks of Boy Scout training, back when such organizations existed. He was kicked out when he said he wasn't sharin' his tent with no G.o.dd.a.m.n Jew-boy. ”We'll just whup Raines proper and have done with it.”

”d.a.m.n right!” Masters replied. ”Git ever'one to arms and in position around the town.”

”How many's comin' at us, General?” Sonny asked.

”Brodermann says two Rebel battalions. That's about fifteen-sixteen hundred Rebels. I figure each battalion's got at least three-four hundred women and n.i.g.g.e.rs and Jews and spies and the like. They can't fight and ever'one knows it. So that means we're prob'ly lookin' at no more'un a thousand people. It won't take us long to deal with this. I just can't figure how come ever'body is so scared of the Rebels.”

For years, Masters and his hate group had been isolated in one corner of the panhandle of Texas. They had grown their crops, maintained the oil rigs and refineries in the area, and kept their heads down. They had communications equipment, but had never been able to 61.break even one of the Rebel codes. Masters and his people had no knowledge of burst transmissions and no concept of military tactics.

Their slogan was Stay White And Pure. SWAP. It was a mystery to Ben how Masters and his SWAP people were going to get along with Hoffman and his mixed bag of fighters. But since few radical racists had the ability to see past the ends of their hoses, that small obstacle had probably never occurred to Masters.

Masters and his fearless fighters grabbed their guns and got behind barricades, ready to defend their wimmin an' child'en against the dark hordes of racial equality, common sense, and justice.

Ben and his son Buddy pulled their battalions up to within a mile of the town and circled it, out of range of anything Masters had in the way of armament.

Behind the barricades, General Masters stood, a green beret on his head-he had taken it away from a little boy years back-and his trusty .30-.30 at hand. ”Our moment of glory is here, men!” he shouted. ”We'll go down in history as the first to defend our right to live white and free and pure.”Actually about a half a million had gone down under the guns of the Rebels. Six feet down in most cases. Ma.s.s graves.

”Stand ready to repel the charge!” Sonny shouted. He remembered that line from his high school lit cla.s.s.

”Aw, s.h.i.+t, Sonny,” Bubba said. ”I was gonna say that.”

But no charge came.

Ben leaned against the fender of his Hummer and viewed the town through long lenses. Paul Blair, a Cherokee Indian and a graduate of the University of Tennessee 62.stood beside Ben. Paul was a company commander in Ben's One Battalion.

He had found a chicken feather and stuck it in his cowboy hat.

”Take plenty scalps this day,” Paul grunted, a twinkle in his eyes.

”Paint face and dance. Then count coup.”

Ben looked at him. ”What are you going to use for a coup stick, O Great and n.o.ble Red Man, your economics degree or your minor in education?”

Paul grinned and showed Ben a child's rubber tomahawk he had found amid the rubble of an old five and dime. ”Will this do?” It was surprisingly realistic.

Ben laughed at the man. ”That thing is going to get you in trouble someday, Paul.”

”The dossier on John Masters says he hates Indians.”

”Masters hates everybody. What else is new?”

”I want to get close to the man, wave this tomahawk, and yell some Cherokee words at him.”

”I wasn't aware you knew any Cherokee.”

”I know how to say 'good morning' and 'it looks like it might rain.' ”

He pulled out several tubes of lipstick and knelt down, looking at his reflection in the outside mirror of the Hummer. He began carefully streaking his face with purple and red and orange.

Jersey looked at him and slowly shook her head. ”How come One Battalion always gets the people who are full of s.h.i.+t?” she questioned.

Paul cut his eyes. ”Look, Little Bit, you're about a quarter-breed Apache, yourself.”

”You're right,” Jersey said. ”Let me use that lipstick when you're through.”

”Jesus,” Ben muttered. ”You people better start taking this seriously.

John Masters is a certifiable nut, but his guns are very real.”

63.”Buddy on the horn, sir,” Corrie said.”Go, Rat,” Ben said.

”What's the p.o.o.p, Pop?”